


With Thorns in Your Crown

by iridiumring92



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Depressed Noctis, First Kiss, M/M, Younger Noctis, kind of love at first sight, sketchy soulmate lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridiumring92/pseuds/iridiumring92
Summary: Soul bonds, the mysterious, intangible ties between soulmates, can guide people to discover each other. However, if left ignored, they can slowly tear each person apart.Among the people of Lucis, the rumor is that their prince is ill, but Noctis knows without a doubt that his "illness" is the result of a soul bond, the other half of which he has not yet discovered.





	With Thorns in Your Crown

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story was inspired by the song "You Come Down" by Marika Hackman.
> 
> This takes place in a past time period, without the technology that the canon universe has. (They do have magic, though.) Noctis is seventeen.
> 
> I originally started writing this for the Ignoct Week Day 3 Timed Quest: "絆 / Kizuna / Bonds."

Noctis didn’t think he’d ever heard the words spoken aloud.

He’d heard them, of course, but only in hushed whispers and behind closed doors. None spoke them freely, and almost none spoke of them at all. _Soul ties,_ or, usually, _soul bonds,_ never uttered without the undertones of fear or scorn.

Most of what he knew had come from books. He spent most of his time in dark corners of the palace library, and one year, he’d found volumes upon volumes about the fabled soul bonds. Yet despite the number and occasional recency of these volumes, certain bits of information never seemed to become clearer. The authors could only speculate about the origins of these bonds, for instance, usually attributing them to the gods or to some distorted work of nature. Some of them wrote as if they’d given up trying to understand.

Still, he’d also found information imperative to his own grasp of the concept, facts that could explain why he’d never heard soul bonds discussed outside of private rooms—and how they were relevant to _him_. He’d read that they became sort of a taboo over time, that once, people did indeed speak of them in public and tried to learn their workings. But when they could not be understood, and when they became more of a liability, a responsibility, and ever rarer, people scorned them, resisted them, even shunned those who carried soul bonds.

And this, he’d realized, was why the people spoke about _him_ in whispers, too. _The invalid prince,_ he’d heard them say in the streets. _How unfortunate._ They said nothing of soul bonds.

When he was younger, nine or ten years old or so, Noctis had heard the king and queen talking in low voices to one another in the dining room. He’d stood behind the doors, pressing his back to the wall. _Do you really think that’s the case?_ the queen had asked. _What if he’s just ill?_

 _If he were ill, I would take the same precautions,_ the king had replied. _Whether soul bond or illness, he will be too weak to take the throne, and too vulnerable. We will have to pass it on to our next heir._ He’d paused, sighing. _If it is indeed a soul bond, Noctis will be even more volatile, even more unreliable than ever. I fear for him, and us as well._

 _That is your son,_ the queen had finally snapped. _That is your_ son _you speak of. I do not care what the rabble have said of bonds or what rumors you have heard. I will not hear you speak of Noctis that way._

The king had fallen silent for a moment. _Aulea,_ he’d finally said. _I mean Noctis no harm, you must understand. It is not truly him I find dangerous. It is the nature of the bond._

Noctis had understood almost none of this, but when the king and queen left the dining room, his knees gave out and he sank to the floor. He’d heard his father say he couldn’t take the throne. He would be rejected by his own people, ridiculed, and ultimately erased from history. All because of something the queen had called an illness and the king a _soul bond._

After years of reading and hiding, he finally began to understand. But by then his brother Ren, the younger Lucis Caelum son, had been offered the throne, and Noctis had fallen headfirst into misery and depression and did not know how to free himself.

He remembered one afternoon in particular—a couple of years after overhearing the king and queen’s conversation, but years before he had read enough to understand what, exactly, they meant. Alone in the palace, he’d decided to disguise himself and leave to see the market. He had taken a riding cloak with a hood from the stables and the horse that he’d been taught to ride long before this _soul bond_ business came up. He’d left quietly and efficiently, arriving on the market’s main street without being noticed at all. In fact, he’d just begun to think that it was beautiful, to smile faintly beneath the shadow of his hood, when a spasm of pain seized his skull.

The pain came so suddenly that Noctis lost his balance and fell. Immediately, several townspeople had noticed and a couple of them had rushed to his aid, but his hood had fallen back, revealing his face, his dark hair.

“It’s the invalid prince,” someone said loudly.

Another shock of pain hit Noctis, and his vision blurred. He could do nothing but lie there with an arm slung over his eyes, his breath shaking in his lungs. He hadn’t been able to move or struggle, not even when his father’s guards showed up to carry him back to the palace.

He had been confined within the palace walls since. And he’d spent that time learning all he could about the forbidden soul bond and what it was doing to him.

The scholars wrote that soul bonds formed between two people, but whether they knew it or not, whether they had met or were complete strangers, whether they were close or very far apart, seemed not to matter. Supposedly the bond should have drawn the two people closer together until they could recognize each other for what they were, but more often than not, it didn’t work. At least not immediately.

So both would suffer severe pain, anxiety, and headaches.

Sometimes they would get closer and the pain would ease. Other times they couldn’t or wouldn’t, and that pain would tear each of them apart slowly. Only one author was brave enough to state what the others would only hint at: soul bonds were so powerful that they could kill.

Sitting in a chair in the palace library that afternoon, a book sitting open but untouched in his lap, Noctis thought for the thousandth time, _If they won’t let me leave the palace, I’ll never find the person on the other side of this soul bond._

He’d stopped letting himself wonder who the other person was years ago.

 _I’m going to die from this,_ he thought. _Is that what they want?_

The sound of someone else moving through the depths of the library brought him out of his thoughts. He sank deeper into the chair. Likely a servant who had come on an errand from the king or queen, or perhaps to dust off the shelves, and didn’t know he was there. Perhaps the king had sent someone after him, but he doubted it. No one called on Noctis. Or at least if someone did, the occasion was very important and rare.

The sound grew farther away, and Noctis stood up to place the book he held back on the shelf. No point in letting it gather dust. But he had just begun to slip it between two other volumes when the blinding, white-hot pain stabbed through his skull, his spine. He was aware of the book leaving his hand and crashing to the floor, but he didn’t hear it fall.

When he could breathe again, his cheek rested against the cool tile floor. Tears had run down his cheeks. A servant knelt beside him, and a couple of guards stood at the end of the shelf.

“Your Highness,” the servant said shakily. The words held a hazily familiar ring to them, like the reminder of a dream, and Noctis wondered how many times she’d said them. “Are you all right? Should I alert King Regis?”

“No, don’t,” he said, sitting up and wiping the tears from his face. His eyes still burned, and his head ached faintly. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so, Your Highness.” The servant stood and bowed, and moments later she and the guards were both gone.

Noctis crouched between the shelves for several minutes, fighting the tears that sprang to his eyes, but he couldn’t stop them—and this time they were no longer tears of pain, but of sorrow. He could not leave the palace, could not find the one person who might understand or love him, and he would suffer these headaches until they killed him. The servants, who only paid attention to him when he seized in agony, would turn away as soon as he lied and said he was all right.

Was it too much to hope that the other half of his soul bond might come to the palace to save him? Might come looking for him, at least in order to ease the pain? But then again, he did not want to burden another human being with his existence. He could not be the weight on someone else’s shoulders.

“Please,” he whispered, looking up to the ceiling. There, hidden by the shelves and blurred by the tears in his eyes, was a series of paintings involving the gods. Noctis had always made an effort to study their stories, but at the moment, they were lost to him. “Please end this, if you can do nothing else. I b-beg you.”

But of course, the gods said nothing in answer, and he curled up with his forehead to the floor, allowing the sobs to shake his body until he could calm down again.

 

* * *

 

Noctis rarely saw his younger brother, but he knew Ren was the main facet of the king and queen’s attention most of the time. And he envied his brother that just a little, but never hated him. No, he couldn’t allow himself to hate such an innocent creature, not when his brother had done nothing to inflict Noctis’s future on him.

Or at least, that was what Noctis told himself. Some nights, he wished his brother had never existed, that the king and queen would have no choice but to give Noctis his throne and birthright, and his freedom to find the other half of his soul bond. Perhaps then he would have found them, the pain would have gone away, and he would no longer be their sickly child, their invalid prince.

Yet his wishes had, as yet, done nothing for him, and that morning when he woke, a servant informed him that the king and queen would be preoccupied with their chosen son most of the morning and afternoon. Noctis didn’t listen to find out the reason. Perhaps the king had decided to teach him tactics or the queen wanted to outfit him for new clothes. Noctis didn’t care.

He’d just finished dressing and stood in front of the long mirror in his chambers when he felt something.

A _tug._

He felt it in his chest, as if someone had tied a knot there and pulled a string. He pressed a hand to his heart and looked about the room. Could this be the soul bond again? A sign? A call to follow?

Noctis left his room and dashed down several staircases, sprinting past servants who made surprised noises and who Noctis guessed had never seen him move so fast before. He only slowed when he reached the door that led out to the gardens and the stables, and carefully he slipped past the threshold to breathe the clean, free air.

He strode down the path and through the gardens, thick with neatly tended trees and flowers. The air was heavy with the various perfumes of plants and the faint smell of wood. Noctis paused—had the invisible tether pulled him this direction, or had he felt it wrong? Perhaps, after all these years, he’d finally started to go mad with rage and loneliness, and the pull had been imagined.

At that moment, bright, hot knives of pain stabbed up and down his spine again. He tripped and fell face-first into the grass.

 _No,_ he begged, though he didn’t think the word ever left his mouth. _Not now. Please not now. Don’t let them find me. . . ._

When he came to, the pain was blissfully absent. He felt no lingering ache or aftershock. Someone else’s arm was braced around his shoulders, warm, _real._ Noctis turned his face into the crook of the person’s elbow, humming softly. Maybe he’d died.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw that he hadn’t. The palace gardens still surrounded him, and the person who crouched over him was neither god nor daemon, though he was strikingly beautiful. His brown hair fell over his forehead, framing a face with green eyes and soft lips, and he wore dark clothing that outlined his slim frame.

“Are you all right?” he asked, an accent curving each word. His voice sounded warm, rich.

Noctis sat up, took the stranger’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

He knew at once. That kiss and all of the ones to follow were breathless, hot and sudden and desperate. The stranger’s lips moved against Noctis’s, almost like speaking, a language he had barely heard, yet understood almost fluently. They knelt together in the grass, kissing, lips parted, hands wandering, slipping under each other’s clothing. They both knew.

“You saved me,” Noctis whispered finally, out of breath. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ignis,” the stranger said, pushing strands of hair out of his eyes. “Ignis Scientia. And might I have the pleasure of knowing your name as well?”

“Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

“Noctis,” Ignis repeated. “The crown prince, then?”

Noctis shook his head. “Not anymore,” he said. _The invalid prince,_ a voice said in the back of his head. _How unfortunate._ And yet, with Ignis so close to him, the other half of his soul bond, his body was thrumming with new strength. He felt like he could run across the kingdom of Lucis without tiring. “Ignis, please, take me out of here. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“I’m afraid that would be inadvisable,” Ignis said softly. “I cannot kidnap a prince. I would surely be hunted down and branded a criminal, and after that I would be no good to you, I’m certain.” Noctis opened his mouth to object, but Ignis held up a hand. “But if you take me with you to meet the king and queen, I might be able to explain our situation.”

“No,” Noctis protested. “You can’t. They won’t listen to you. They haven’t tried to hear me out for years.”

“But they have not met—ah.” Ignis looked over Noctis’s shoulder with something like resignation, and when Noctis turned, he saw his father the king and several of his guards marching down the path toward the gardens, their faces grim. “I suppose we haven’t a choice now.”

Noctis’s throat felt tight, and he rose, gripping Ignis’s hand, as they approached. Ignis stood alongside him. He said not a word.

Regis stopped before them, his guards a step behind. “Noctis,” he said, his voice low and resigned and worried and a thousand other things. “And who might you be?”

“Your Majesty, my name is Ignis Scientia,” Ignis said. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head. Noctis was forced to let go of his hand. “I am a scribe. I come from the land of Tenebrae seeking an audience with your son, Prince Noctis.”

“Tenebrae,” Regis repeated. “I see. And what were the two of you doing out here before we approached?”

Noctis interrupted before Ignis could speak. “Father, Ignis and I share a soul bond.”

The words burned his throat and tongue, and for a moment, he wished that he had not spoken them at all. He had never said the words himself, save for small moments in the library when he whispered them under his breath. They felt foreign and filthy, despite their familiarity in his head.

Regis stared back at him, no hint of expression on his face. He said nothing for a very long time. When he finally did speak, Noctis feared that his words would be those of punishment, of condemnation.

But he looked to Ignis and said, “It is you, then? Finally? I had feared my son should die of loneliness.” He gave a shallow nod. “I owe you my thanks. Both of you, please, come inside.”

Noctis wanted to scream. These weren’t the words his father would have said had he found Noctis alone trying to escape the palace grounds. These were words for a stranger, false words, lies. _Lies._

His jaw clenched, and when he didn’t move, Ignis placed a hand on his elbow, guiding him. He closed his eyes and focused on that single point of contact between them as they walked back down the path from the gardens.

They walked down narrow, winding hallways that led to broad, open ones, until they reached a set of very large wooden doors. Two guards standing at these doors opened them to allow them entry, while two others stood by. As he passed, Regis said to them, “See that the queen is summoned.” Noctis heard them murmur in confirmation before one of them split off from the others and dashed down the hallway.

The guards flanked them, while Regis ascended the steps to the throne to address his son and Ignis. Barely a minute later, the queen joined him at his side.

Noctis suddenly felt very small.

His father began to explain to the queen what had happened, and though she kept her face a mask of indifference, she glanced at Ignis and Noctis with concern in her eyes. Concern for what, Noctis didn’t know. For him, and the fate they might have condemned him to? Or perhaps due to the fact that he might finally have his freedom, something they had withheld from him for years?

“Ignis,” his father finally said, “you came here seeking Noctis, did you not? What were your intentions?”

Ignis bowed his head. “Your Majesty, I did not know that the person I sought was His Highness. I came to Lucis because I felt the bond asking me to. Perhaps demanding, actually. For years I have suffered on account of it. I divined years ago that the person on the other side must be very far away, and just weeks ago, I gained permission to come here. The closer I got, the more I felt a—a pull. It led me to the palace gardens.”

“And there you found my son?”

“Indeed. He was unconscious.” The queen’s eyes widened, and Ignis continued, “I thought perhaps he might be asleep, but as I got closer, I realized he looked like he’d fallen. I stayed with him until he woke, and when he did, I—” He broke off.

“What did you do?” Regis prompted.

“Well, I—I knew it was him. Right away.” At this, his face colored just a bit. “And he knew it was me.”

The king and queen shared a glance. Regis looked back to Ignis and said, “What do you intend to do now?”

“Well, seeing as how we share a soul bond,” Ignis said quietly, “it would normally be appropriate for us to be married. But he is a prince of Lucis. I understand if you do not wish to give him up.”

“What of your family, back in Tenebrae?”

“We are no royalty, but we are indeed known as a name of high status.”

“And your age?”

“Nineteen, Your Majesty.”

Regis nodded. “Would you be opposed to staying in Lucis for a while, while we make arrangements? Or will you be needing to return to Tenebrae soon?”

“I can stay, if that is what you wish me to do,” Ignis said. At this he cast a small sideways glance at Noctis, whose heart had nearly stopped at his father’s question. Noctis wondered if he’d reacted somehow.

 _Arrangements?_ Did that mean he would be allowed to stay with Ignis? Did it mean he might be able to escape the pain his soul bond had inflicted on him for the past several years? Or was it a mere precaution, to ensure the cooperation of both Ignis and Noctis?

“That is what I have decided.” Regis rose to his feet. “Ignis, I will have my servants prepare quarters for you, and you will stay at the palace until we reach a decision. If you’ll step outside, I will have guards escort you to your chambers. I must speak with my son, in the meantime.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Regis and Ignis both walked the length of the throne room back to the door, a few guards behind them. Moments later, Regis returned. He stopped at Noctis’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Noctis,” he said, “I am afraid for you. A king should not let his emotions cloud his judgment.”

“You said I’d never be king.” The words bit more than Noctis intended for them to.

Regis sighed. “Yes. I—” For a moment, he faltered, and spoke not a word. Then, softly, he said, “I am sorry, Noctis. I am so sorry.”

Noctis stared back at him, at the sadness, the remorse in his face. He would never have expected his father to be sorry, much less to _apologize_ to him, in words.

But the moment passed, and Regis continued as if he had never faltered. “You are not to visit his chambers,” he said. “And you are not to meet in private. You are only to meet if the queen or I has sanctioned it.”

“Yes, Father.” Noctis gritted his teeth. He’d have escaped his parents’ rules much more often when he was younger had the sudden headaches not given him away as _the invalid prince_ nearly every time. Now that he no longer needed to worry about the negative effects of the soul bond, he might have more success.

He would see Ignis whether the king and queen had sanctioned it or not. They had to speak in private, when no one else could overhear.

 

* * *

 

He left his quarters later, in the deep night, to find Ignis. He knew the palace halls well, and it didn’t take him long to find the ones where guests were usually given rooms. The first few he checked were empty, with no lights under doors or servants passing through, but eventually he came upon one that was occupied.

To Noctis’s surprise, Regis had had guards stationed outside Ignis’s door, and for a moment he wasn’t sure how he’d make it past them. He considered walking straight up to them and begging for entry—but he knew that wouldn’t work. After a moment, he whispered a few words under his breath and threw out a hand toward the end of the hallway.

A burst of light appeared for a split second on the other side—thunder magic, not strong enough to cause any sort of damage. The guards both turned toward it before glancing at one another.

 _Go,_ Noctis thought, but for a minute, the two guards just stood there, locked in some sort of discussion. Perhaps they were deciding who would go investigate. Noctis sent several more bursts of light toward the end of the hall, and the guards, looking alarmed, set off toward it at a jog.

Noctis made for the door they’d been guarding. He found it unlocked. Either Ignis had expected Noctis to come, not having heard the warning from his father, or they hadn’t permitted him to lock the door. Regis had no reason to afford the newcomer privacy, after all.

He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Beyond the door, the room was lit softly by candlelight, and Ignis lay on the four-poster bed reading. He looked up when he heard Noctis enter.

“Your Highness,” he said, setting the book down and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Noctis couldn’t help but notice his legs—and once he did, he couldn’t seem to _stop_ noticing them.

He pressed his lips together. “My father said not to come here, but I had to talk to you.”

“Why on earth would he—” Ignis cast a sort of half-glance backwards at the bed. “Ah. Well—you’ve nothing to fear from me, Highness. I don’t intend to overstep.”

 _“Overstep?”_ Noctis repeated, thinking of their fervent kisses earlier in the palace gardens. “I wouldn’t consider it overstepping. In fact, if I weren’t so sure the guards outside your door would hear us . . .”

Ignis shook his head. “Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but now does not seem like the time.”

Noctis closed his eyes, ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Don’t call me that. Don’t call me ‘Your Highness.’ Please. I’m just Noctis. I’m not even a prince anymore. You—you can call me Noct, if you want.”

“All right.” Ignis crossed his arms over his chest, hesitantly, as if he were unsure what to do with his hands. “You said there was something you wished to discuss with me?”

“Yes,” Noctis said, striding closer to Ignis. “So, if you don’t mind . . .”

He sat on the end of the bed, tucking his legs under him. Ignis watched him for a few heartbeats before joining him there and leaning back against the pillows.

Noctis stared down at the sheets for a moment, wondering where to start. He had to tell Ignis about what had happened in the past several years, about why he couldn’t be a prince or a king, about why his father’s words rang so false.

Finally he took a shaky breath and said, “So—so I don’t know how it is in Tenebrae, but here, soul bonds are . . . _hated_.”

He explained his parents’ realization that he had a soul bond, when he was younger. How they’d given his younger brother the throne. How they’d confined Noctis to the palace, and how he’d spent his time reading every book he could get his hands on, especially those about soul bonds. How he’d tried to escape and failed because of the headaches. How he’d always wondered what the other part of his soul would be like.

“And now,” he said, realizing too late that tears were burning his eyes and escaping slowly down his face, “now that I’ve met you—you’re perfect. I can’t let my father take you away from me. All the pain and the headaches have stopped and I—I feel more like I’m living than I ever have. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

His voice broke, and when he looked up, he saw Ignis watching him with such resounding concern that he shattered completely. He curled up on the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees, trying to quell the sobs that forced themselves from him.

He felt the mattress shift beneath him, and moments later Ignis had pulled him against his chest, stroking his hair and murmuring soothing words. He was so _warm,_ and—and Noctis hadn’t touched another person in what felt like years.

“Please just don’t leave me,” he said into Ignis’s shoulder.

“I have no intention of doing such a thing, Noct.”

And his name was a salve, coming from Ignis’s lips. Noctis felt himself calm significantly at the sound.

Ignis pulled him down gently, so that he lay with his head on Ignis’s chest, Ignis’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. “Do you want to hear about what brought me to Lucis, or shall that be a story for another night?”

“I’ll listen,” Noctis said softly.

In an equally soft voice, Ignis began. “Things are much different where I come from. Soul bonds are sought after. They seem to have gradually disappeared over the years, and some think that they were once the gods’ way of guiding us to the people we are destined to be with. That the gods may have abandoned most of us. But those who have soul bonds . . . they are proof that the gods are still watching.” He looked toward the flickering candles on the table beside the bed. “To let those people die would be to spurn a gift of the gods.”

He shifted, and again he met Noctis’s eyes. “Mine was difficult, though, even for those who supported me.”

“Because I wasn’t in Tenebrae?”

“Exactly.” A distant look fell over Ignis’s face, as if he looked not into the room beyond, but into a place in the past. “I searched for years for the other half of my soul bond. I suffered headaches occasionally, then frequently, then every day. I traveled to places I’d never been, each time hoping the pain would abate, yet each time I ended up at another clinic or another inn, sick with fever or unable to sleep.”

“So . . . what did you do?” Noctis asked. Ignis spoke of sleeplessness, but he felt as if he could close his eyes and descend into sleep right here.

“My family suggested I travel to Lucis,” Ignis said, his voice nearly a whisper. “I didn’t want to. I knew it would be a difficult journey—but at the same time, I could never recover if I didn’t find you. So I went.” He took a deep breath, and Noctis felt the slow rise and fall of his chest as he did so. “I had to stop several times, but I managed it. And then I felt that—that _tug,_ at the center of my chest.”

Noctis nodded. “I felt it.”

“That’s what brought me to the palace grounds. But when I found you—” Ignis paused again. “I feared it would be too late.”

“No,” Noctis said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You saved me.”

“It might be too soon,” Ignis responded, pulling him down so that Noctis lay nearly on top of him, “but I think I might love you.”

Noctis shook his head. “It’s not too soon,” he whispered.

Ignis’s hand slid to the back of Noctis’s neck, fingers threading through his hair, and brought him closer. His lips brushed Noctis’s, the barest touch at first, before both of them leaned into the kiss, desire and hunger and need driving them. Noctis felt Ignis’s hands slip under the hem of his shirt, felt his touch burn against his skin and awaken something deep within him. A flame, a craving, a _will._ And he knew Ignis had said this wasn’t the time, but he _wanted_ to. He wanted to feel the wild heat of their skin together, wanted to feel the sparks between them blazing into an inferno. His own body demanded that he give in.

He shifted to kiss Ignis’s throat, hands bracing his hips and fingers tracing the curves of hipbones. Ignis arched against him, humming slightly as his hands roamed over Noctis’s back, eventually finding the hem of his shirt there too and pushing it nearly up to his shoulders. He pulled Noctis’s mouth back to his, and his teeth grazed Noctis’s lower lip, drawing a low moan from him. Noctis pressed even closer. He felt their legs tangling, felt them touching in all the places that mattered, and he wanted _more,_ wanted to be so close that no space would dare to exist between them—

Without warning, Ignis pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length. His face was flushed, and his chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath. “I know,” he said softly. “I know. I—I want this, too. But we should rest.”

Noctis paused to catch his breath. He was still sitting above Ignis, legs straddling his hips. Finally he lay down, taking up the space beside Ignis on the bed, and sighed. “Just don’t tell me to go,” he pleaded. “Let me stay with you tonight.”

“Yes, of course.” Ignis put an arm around Noctis’s shoulders, drawing him in, letting the warmth of their bodies blend. Noctis closed his eyes, and Ignis leaned over to kiss his forehead.

“I wouldn’t have made it without you,” Noctis murmured later, as he sank into sleep.

“Nor I you, Noctis,” Ignis said. “Sleep well.”

He did.

 

* * *

 

The king did not come to a decision regarding his son and the other half of his soul bond for several days. Noctis spent those days with Ignis, keeping to his side whenever possible, avoiding the king and queen, avoiding his brother. He and Ignis lost themselves in the labyrinth of shelves in the library, stealing kisses in the shadows, or walked through the palace gardens where they had first met. Noctis felt like a convalescent who’d just left his room for the first time in months. The world was bright and new and beautiful, and he wanted all of it.

He left his own quarters late at night to visit Ignis, distracting the guards outside his door or sending them on errands or complaining to them that he thought he’d seen something suspicious in one of the other hallways. He didn’t know if they suspected him—and maybe they did—but they never told King Regis. He stayed with Ignis during the nights, and though Ignis insisted that they come to each other only for sleep, sometimes he nearly went back on his word. Noctis certainly begged him to enough.

One night, when Noctis had half undressed him and kissed him almost speechless, he broke them apart again. Noctis whined, feeling the loss of contact like a shock of cold.

“Hear me out,” Ignis said, breathless. When Noctis didn’t say anything, he continued, “I want the king to give us his word first—I want to know that we’ll be able to stay together. I need to have all of you. I can’t just . . . I don’t want us to be miserable or desperate, or to regret . . .”

“But he could say no,” Noctis said. “And then where would we be?”

“He couldn’t endeavor to keep two soul-bonded people apart,” Ignis replied. “Especially since one of them happens to be his son.”

Noctis made an impatient noise and shifted closer to him, brushing lips against his bare shoulder. It felt like someone had shortened the tether between them since they’d met, and now his body felt as if it were being torn apart with _wanting_ every minute, every breath. “Ignis. Please. Take me. I’m yours.”

“Noctis, the _guards. . . ._ ” Ignis trailed off as Noctis buried his face in his neck, his sentence ending in a sigh. “You are relentless. I love you.”

Noctis’s breath caught in his throat. “I love you too,” he whispered.

He hadn’t thought he would ever hear someone say those words to him. He’d spent so much of his life alone that he’d grown used to it, that he’d thought he would just die that way. Alone and in pain.

Yet now he was not either of those things.

Ignis sat up abruptly, and Noctis realized that his own tears had fallen onto Ignis’s skin. He couldn’t make them stop. He kept thinking about that day in the library, how he’d begged the gods to end it. How he’d wanted to die. With Ignis beside him, he felt ashamed, resentful, relieved, all at once. He felt like he might shatter.

“Noct.” Ignis’s arms slipped around him, pulling him close, hands skating over his bare back. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Noctis’s voice was hoarse. “I just—didn’t think you would ever find me. I didn’t think it would ever be like this.”

Ignis kissed his hair and whispered to him as he tried not to cry. Noctis’s shoulders shook. He closed his eyes, focused on the warmth between them.

“I think we should just try for sleep tonight,” Ignis whispered at last, when Noctis had calmed down and the two of them lay in each other’s arms. “Is that all right with you, Noct?”

“It’s fine,” Noctis answered. He felt too exhausted for anything else anyway.

“Then good night,” Ignis said softly, leaning over to kiss his temple.

In the wake of his tears, Noctis felt sleep drag him over the edge.

 

* * *

 

Morning came clear and too bright. Noctis stirred, shielding his eyes against the sunlight that streamed through the window and curling into the dark warmth at his side. He heard the sheets rustling, felt someone’s hand touch his waist—

He sat up, panic making his heart race and his breath come in gasps. He’d forgotten to return to his own quarters, the way he usually did in the early hours of the morning when the guards changed watch. He’d slept long enough that the sun had come up.

“Noct,” Ignis murmured. “You decided to stay?”

Before Noctis could explain himself, a knock sounded at the door, and he dove under the sheets.

Yet the door didn’t open. A voice came from without: “Ignis Scientia, His Majesty has requested to see you immediately.”

“Yes, of course,” Ignis said in the direction of the door. He sat up to face Noctis, who had slowly emerged from the shadows of the sheets at the sound of his voice. Ignis cupped his jaw with one hand and kissed him lightly on the mouth, and Noctis closed his eyes. “You can stay here if you’d like. Otherwise, the guards will have no reason to stand at the door once I’m gone. Surely you can make your exit then.”

“If my father knows I’m not in my quarters, and he sent for you,” Noctis whispered, “he might know. He might know I came to see you without his permission. He—he might separate us.”

Ignis hushed him, hands slipping to Noctis’s waist, an attempt to bring him closer, to comfort him. Noctis trembled at his touch.

“We’ll be all right,” he said. Leaning in, he touched his lips to the curve of Noctis’s neck, just below his ear and the dip of his jaw. “If nothing else, I can help you get out when all of this is over.”

“Mmm.” Noctis leaned into him, the slight pressure of his lips making him weak and able to forget everything else. When Ignis pulled away, he slipped back down into the sheets, sleepy and compliant in the wake of his terror. “Meet you there after your guards are gone?”

“Don’t sleep through it,” Ignis said affectionately, stroking Noctis’s hair once before sliding out of bed.

Ignis disappeared through a door on the other side of the room to change, and Noctis, letting his eyes flutter shut again, fantasized about what he might look like fully undressed. He knew in part, of course, from the times they’d nearly lost control in each other’s presence, but he had yet to actually _see_ Ignis. And gods, he wanted to. Besides, he was certain that even daydreaming about it wouldn’t compare to reality.

He dozed for a few minutes, until Ignis opened the door again to leave. Noctis tried to conceal himself in the sheets in case either of the guards decided to glance into the room, and watched Ignis go from his side of the bed.

Noctis silently prayed to the gods that Ignis wouldn’t have to leave him. They had refused to let him give up his life, and they had guided Ignis to him before either of them wasted away under the weight of the soul bond, so they couldn’t possibly think to force him and Ignis apart now. Could they?

He could no longer hear the guards or their footsteps out in the hallway, so he pulled on his shirt and started for the door.

Somehow, he managed to make it back to his own quarters without being seen. Once there, he changed into a more presentable set of clothes and ran damp hands through his mussed hair. He had crossed back into his bedroom, intending to make it look like he’d slept there, when he heard voices from the hall. He paused with the sheets drawn slightly back.

“. . . wasn’t here earlier this morning,” a low, gruff voice said. “Unless he was asleep. We’d better—”

The door swung open, and one of the guards stepped in. Noctis flinched. The guard looked rather surprised to see him.

“Y-Your Highness,” he stammered, falling into a half bow. “I apologize.” The others quickly fell in behind him.

“Your father has sent for you,” the guard continued. “You weren’t answering the door. We had to make sure you were all right.”

“Um.” Noctis swallowed, trying to think of something, anything, to say. “I, uh—I was asleep. I didn’t hear anything.”

The guard nodded once. Noctis guessed he didn’t suspect anything, though how that had come to be, he wasn’t sure. Probably some stroke of luck—that he hadn’t been assigned to Ignis’s hallway or informed as to where Noctis was and was not allowed to go, or simply that he believed Noctis’s claims. In any case, Noctis felt grateful he didn’t have to explain himself any further.

“Well, Your Highness,” the guard said, “if you’re ready, we’ve been instructed to take you to the throne room.”

Noctis murmured his affirmation, and the guards turned to guide him from the room. He kept his face a mask of calm and focused on each step he took, but his heart hammered furiously in his chest.

His father had finally decided their fate.

 

* * *

 

Noctis strode into the throne room, the guards dispersing behind him, the path to the far end of the room stretching out endlessly before him. He forced himself to take deep breaths, to try to slow his racing heart, as his father watched him from the throne.

And Ignis turned slowly to face him.

His heart tripped, and he had to devote all of his concentration to making sure his feet kept moving, one in front of the other. Here he was, in the same room as both his father and—and the other half of his soul bond. _His_ other half.

His throat was tight when he finally reached the end of the room, where he could stand beside Ignis. He felt the bond tight between them, pulling him toward Ignis, so that his whole body hummed with the need to be _closer._ Ignis must have felt it too, because he brushed the back of his hand gently against Noctis’s. Even that small touch sent heat sparking through him.

He looked up, into his father’s concerned, scrutinizing eyes. Like twin torches held before terrified eyes in the dark, reflected back with the same intensity. Noctis could feel his hands shaking. He longed for Ignis to take them both and hold them until he felt whole again.

“Noctis,” his father began, finally, breaking that awful silence. “Ignis. The queen and I have spent the past several days discussing what to do about your . . . soul bond.” He said the words as though they were foul, as if he regretted every moment he had to spend speaking them. _The invalid prince._ Noctis was certain that his father would have spent the rest of his son’s short life convincing himself he was ill, had Ignis not appeared to confirm the truth. “It was a difficult decision.”

 _And?_ Noctis almost asked, but at that moment, Ignis reached out to bridge the gap between them, threading his fingers between Noctis’s and squeezing his hand. The tension swept out of Noctis’s muscles almost immediately.

“We did not want to lose you, Noctis,” his father said, and despite the warmth of Ignis’s hand, despite the confident thrum of the bond between them, he felt his heart drop. His father took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling visibly with it, and continued. “But we must let you go. Better that you find new life in Tenebrae, and a role for which you are suited. Better that you stay in a place that will not ridicule you for your condition, even if it is not with us.”

Noctis felt his knees hit the cold marble floor. He didn’t remember his legs giving out, didn’t remember letting go of Ignis’s hand.

He could finally leave this place, this lifelong prison. Could finally breathe the free air of Tenebrae. He could finally imagine—finally _desire_ —a life where he’d never have to hear the words “invalid prince” again, and where he’d be wanted, where he’d be loved. _Loved._ The idea was so overwhelming that it crashed over him like a wave, and he couldn’t process it.

Ignis had dropped to his knees beside him, placing a gentle hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. Bracing the bond between them. Noctis drew breath to speak.

“Father,” he said, his voice breaking. “Thank you.”

His father looked away, pain glazing his features. Noctis thought at first that he truly meant to grieve the absence of his firstborn son, but when he looked to Noctis and spoke again, his only words were, “I’m sorry.”

Noctis only blinked back at him at first, uncomprehending. But in the silence that followed, the apology became clear to him. He meant the last several years—the years since the soul bond had set in. The years they’d kept Noctis within these walls like a prisoner.

“I would explain myself, but I fear my reasons mean nothing,” his father said. “I have done you wrong, and I bid you go. You deserve better than what Lucis has given you.”

Noctis was silent. Ignis guided him to his feet, and once they stood together before the throne again, Noctis bowed slightly. “Then I’ll be on my way.”

“I wish the two of you well,” the king said.

“And I you.”

He turned to leave, and once again the throne room seemed infinite, like it would keep them forever bound between its walls. But Ignis kept an arm around Noctis’s waist, supporting him, and before long the door stood just ahead of them.

Noctis didn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

On the road that afternoon, the two of them managed a decent distance in the direction of Tenebrae before Noctis grew tired. He hadn’t traveled since his headaches had thrown him from his horse in the market and he’d been found out as the _invalid prince_ , nor had he gotten much chance for exercise on the palace grounds. When Ignis noticed his fatigue and asked after him, he insisted he was fine and that they keep going. Several miles later, his exhaustion forced them to a stop near the outskirts of a small town, where they could see an inn and a few other establishments.

“Noct, you need to tell me when you’re tired,” Ignis murmured to him. They sat beside the road in the soft grass, Noctis leaning on Ignis’s shoulder for support. Though they could see civilization from here, it was still a ways off.

“I just wanted to make it a little longer. . . .” Noctis sighed, pressing his lips to Ignis’s neck. “Besides, I didn’t want to be close to the palace anymore. Too much chance that someone would’ve recognized me.”

“I know.” Ignis rubbed his back, his hand tracing paths along Noctis’s spine and sending shivers through him. “We should be all right now. Will you be able to make it into town? We can stay the night here and set out again tomorrow morning.”

“It’d be better if you could carry me there.”

Ignis leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You wish that were possible, Noct.”

He stood up and offered his hand, which Noctis took and struggled back to his feet. With some difficulty, he mounted his horse again, and the two of them set off at a slower pace toward the town ahead.

A while later, they arrived at the inn, one of the attendants emerging to meet them and take their horses. Noctis nearly lost his balance trying to make it to the ground, but Ignis appeared at his side just as he began to slip and saved him with steadying hands on his waist.

The attendant watched them out of the corner of his eye. Noticing this, Noctis dragged his hood over his head, letting its shadows cloak his face. Ignis gave his waist a gentle squeeze. He thanked the attendant, who simply nodded, and moved toward the front door.

Inside, Noctis slipped away to the corner of the foyer while Ignis went up to the counter to ask for a room. The windows of the foyer opened up to the street outside, where small crowds of people flocked from one place to the next: merchants and apprentices carrying crates, children running after one another, groups heading toward the tavern across the street. Noctis hadn’t been in the presence of so many other people for what felt like years. He trembled with the energy of it.

Minutes later, he felt the still-unfamiliar soft hum of the bond, and he felt a hand gently touch his waist. He turned to see Ignis standing behind him, his expression soft. He held a dull metal key out to Noctis.

“Shall we?” he asked.

They took their time settling in, sharing a meal and then taking turns bathing. Ignis insisted that Noctis go first, and when Noctis had finished scrubbing the dirt and dust from his skin, he sprawled out on the bed, exhausted, while he listened to the water running. He’d begun to doze off when Ignis returned.

“Noct.” The soft hum of Ignis’s voice roused him from his light sleep. He opened an eye to see Ignis dropping down on the bed next to him, the mattress shifting with his weight. The bond between them thrummed. He was grateful for it, grateful for their closeness. “Would you like me to ease the tension in your shoulders? I think you’ll benefit from it tomorrow.”

“Gods, yes.” Noctis pushed himself into a sitting position. Ignis settled behind him, placing hands on his shoulders and beginning to gently massage the tight places, and Noctis made a noise of appreciation.

“Don’t push yourself so hard next time,” Ignis murmured. “We have all the time we need to make it to Tenebrae. We don’t have any reason to rush.”

“If you say so.” Ignis’s hands made contact with a particularly sensitive spot, and Noctis couldn’t hold back his moan.

Ignis’s hands stilled for a moment. “All right?”

“Yes,” Noctis breathed. “Don’t—don’t stop. Your hands feel amazing.”

Ignis laughed softly, and Noctis felt his breath caress the back of his neck. “Well. Thank you. I should hope that’s the case.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ignis continuing to work out the tension in Noctis’s muscles and Noctis sitting back, taking in the healing pressure of his hands. He found himself thinking that he wanted to feel Ignis’s hands on the rest of his body, warm against his bare skin. Soon after that, another thought occurred to him. He hesitated to voice it.

He started to look over his shoulder before deciding against it and turning back. “Ignis,” he began, feeling a flush creep across his cheeks, “where you grew up . . . what do they say about . . . the consummation of soul bonds?”

Ignis paused. He exhaled a soft “Oh,” before returning to Noctis, letting his hands trace soothing paths across his shoulders and along his spine. His hands went a little lower with every movement. “They say it’s absolutely euphoric. That it is a stronger feeling than you can possibly imagine.” He kissed Noctis’s shoulder. “Perhaps it is to make up for the pain.”

Noctis turned to face him, his heart racing, their warmth mingling. “Would you . . .” he began, trailing off.

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking,” Ignis murmured, leaning in so that his lips brushed the corner of Noctis’s mouth, “then the answer is yes.”

“I love you,” Noctis said, and pulled him down.

 

* * *

 

Noctis knew it would take him hours to come down from the high.

He lay sprawled beside Ignis, limbs tangled between them, skin slick with sweat. The sounds of their breathing were the only sounds to break the silence.

Noctis curled into Ignis’s warmth as he had so many nights before, needing more than ever to be close to him. _Euphoric_ had been something of an understatement. Neither of them had ever done this before, and yet . . . he had no words to describe what he’d felt.

He thought of the fevered kisses pressed to his neck and collarbone, the sharp ecstasy of the bond as their hands, their skin touched in all those places they hadn’t before. Ignis’s sigh of, “Oh, _Noct_ ,” once they were finally, finally together, and the way it had set his spine tingling. The feeling that his every nerve was alight and electric, that his body was infinite, that he was high as the stars. Ignis had been gentle with him, of course, since it was their first time, but his movements had had Noctis falling apart anyway.

Noctis closed his eyes, drifting on tides of contentment. Still lost in recent memories of Ignis’s hands on his hips and everywhere else, of the echoes of their voices, of collapsing into the sheets when his muscles went weak. He felt everything in the bond, that slow current still moving through his body. He wanted to stay in those moments forever.

The bond still hummed as they lay there together, cocooned in each other’s warmth, but it felt more sleepily blissful than ecstatic.

“Ignis, do me a favor?” Noctis asked, finally breaking the silence. “Don’t move.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to return to the road tomorrow,” Ignis said. “Though we can certainly stop whenever you wish.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll last.” Noctis grinned and stretched up to press a kiss to Ignis’s cheek.

“Get some rest for now,” Ignis murmured. “We’ll worry about everything else later.”

“Sounds good to me.”

After a long silence, Ignis spoke again, his arm curving tight around Noctis’s waist. “I don’t know if I’ve told you so yet, but I’m . . . I’m grateful I found you.”

“So am I,” Noctis said, his voice slurred with sleep. “Infinitely.”

 

* * *

 

In the morning, the two of them lay in bed together for a while, watching the early sunlight fall in stripes over the floor and the sheets, holding each other, reveling in the comfort of each other’s presence and in the faint energy of the bond. Noctis roused himself enough to sit above Ignis, knees on either side of his hips, and scatter short kisses across his cheeks, which turned longer, lazier, sensual.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment, and Noctis tumbled back into the sheets as a voice called from the hallway that the two of them had to vacate the room at the earliest possible time. The inn needed the space for its next guests.

“Yes, we’ll be there soon,” Ignis called. When the person’s footsteps had continued down the hall, he closed his eyes and sighed. “We should try to clean up, so that we can leave. We’ve wasted far too much time already.”

“I wouldn’t call this wasted time,” Noctis said with a smirk.

The sun had already risen far beyond the horizon when they left the inn and set off along the road again. Noctis tipped his head back to feel the sun and the wind on his face, better rested than he’d felt in years. After a moment, he turned to Ignis.

“To Tenebrae?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Home,” Ignis agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this story has taken me this long to finish, but it was an adventure to write! Thanks for being patient with me!
> 
> As usual, you can find my tumblr [here](https://iridiumring92.tumblr.com/) :)


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